Fervent
by leighthepeach
Summary: A collection of drabbles and moments between Inquisitor Lavellan and Cullen Rutherford.
1. Carry You

A/N: Takes place during the later part of In Your Heart Shall Burn. Recommended listening is Carry You by Ruelle.

No one saw her. Endless hours have passed since the avalanche, and nothing. No trace of her. And Cullen is still haunted by the look on her face when she left the Chantry. It replays again and again in his mind. Cutting him deeper with each repetition.

" _And what of your escape?" A desperate question, a shot in the dark he couldn't help but take. Because he had to hope, to pray that she had some sort of scheme that allowed her to make it through alive._

 _But no._

 _Her blue eyes steeled. Acceptance, determination. And she turned away._

 _That was when it hit, a blow worse than anything magic or weapons could do to him. Squeezing his heart, crushing it until it skipped a necessary beat. A precursor of the pain that would surely come. Because she didn't plan to survive._

 _His training kicked in, emotions dying, choked down to smother him later. To save the others, to lead their forces, he_ must _function,_ must _do his duty,_ **must let her go** _._

" _Maybe you will surprise it, find a way."_

 _Please, Maker, let her find a way_. Cullen's eyes scan the white mountainside for the thousandth time. His pacing steps take him farther and farther from camp.

Faith is hard when reality is cruel. He remembers Dorian, Varric, and Blackwall being spotted by the scouts, their heavy words at what they left behind. The Herald standing alone against Corypheus and what might just be a damned arch-demon.

" _The snow buried everything. When I looked back…there was no Haven." Varric's gloved hands gripped his crossbow so tightly the leather groaned in protest. "But hey, if anyone can stumble out of that shit alive, it'd be Viru, right? She's basically a walking miracle."_

 _That almost worked, except Varric never once lifted his eyes._

Another look across the mountainside. Empty as the heavy hollow in his chest.

"Cullen, you need to rest. We will have to move in the morning." Cassandra's voice is quiet, every bit as unwilling to push forward when they might be leaving the Herald behind.

"I'm fine."

The Seeker doesn't seem to be in any hurry to leave their post either, lingering with scouts and the Herald's companions on the edge of the camp. The only ones missing are the mages, all busy tending to those wounded during the attack and mass exodus after Haven's fall.

Another frenzied sweep of his eyes. Taking in every minute detail, every disappearing print, every rock and tree and cliff. Piles of white and black shadows, a faint green light that wavers in the distance—

He runs, unheeding of the snow trying to slow him, ignoring the wind burning his face as he fights against it.

"Commander? Cullen what is it?" Cassandra's voice chases him, but he cannot slow his steps, does not dare to turn around and possibly lose that flickering green.

"There! It's her!" His voice is thick, but manages the answer. He can hear the pursuit behind him, Cassandra's reply, but never pauses. Because she's alive.

 _She's alive. She's alive. She's alive!_

He can make her out now, her thin body swaying, stumbling. And then she falls, collapsing to her knees just before he can reach her. And Cullen should probably stop and wait for the others to catch up and help assess the situation, call for a healer. But Viru is trembling violently in the snow, her armor and face streaked with blood, and her eyes look to him with delirious relief.

For the first time since Haven fell, he can breathe.

"Cullen!" A single, hoarse cry from her lips and he drops down beside her just as her hands reach up to him, shaking fingers locking behind his neck. A quick jerk of his cloak and he sweeps the thick material around her tiny form. Gently, he slips an arm beneath her knees and the other under her arms, lifting her slowly to cradle against his chest. And the hold he has on her is so careful, so tender. Not because she is fragile or broken.

But because she is so precious.

"It's alright," he whispers against her hair. "I have you. You're safe."


	2. Speechless

**Summary** : Josephine, Leliana, and Cullen typically make decisions together, weighing each individual's expertise into their option. But when the Inquisitor begins to prepare for her debut at the Winter Palace, their is one detail of the plan the Commander is forbidden to know…or see. At least until the time is right.

* * *

At dawn they all disappeared upstairs, Leliana, Josephine, and their captive. Although she wore a smile as they pulled her along, Viru mouthed a playful 'help me' in Cullen's direction when she looked back.

A certain secretiveness has surrounded this moment. Ever since securing an invitation to the Winter Palace, his two colleagues had been in a frenzy arranging all the finer details. Most decisions– where they would stay in Halamshiral, their mounts, which soldiers to bring as the Inquisitor's guard, even updating Inquisition uniforms– he had been privy to and had a say in. But one they absolute forbade him to participate in.

 _"Why should it matter if I know what the Inquisitor wears?" Not angry, merely baffled at their vehemence, he could not help but ask for an explanation._

 _"Believe me, Commander, it is imperative that you are left in the dark with this matter." Leliana was firm in her response._

 _"Leave it to us, Commander." Josephine smiled amiably, but it was clear that the matter was not up for discussion._

 _Of course, that only piqued his interest terribly. Still, he begrudgingly followed his orders._

Having finished donning his own attire for the night, Cullen is left to wait. The red fabric seems too tight across his shoulders, somehow more confining than full plate. However, he shouldn't complain. At least they are not wearing the foolish Orlesian masks.

Minutes turn into an hour, then an hour into two. In that time Cullen has paced from wall to wall so many times that he is well on his way to wearing a trail into the thick carpets.

A faint click echoes from upstairs, then he can hear quiet footsteps. Without thinking, his own pacing takes him to the bottom of the stairs.

And then Viru is there.

Unaware of it, Cullen's eyes widen and his lips part, a silent 'oh'. Awestruck, he takes her in slowly, running his eyes over every radiant detail.

Her dark golden curls are braided, arranged artfully so that her hair is held away from her face but still falls free down her back. She wears a gown the same deep blue as his sash. It ties behind her neck, leaves her freckled shoulders and slender arms bare. The silk is fitted around her waist, flows gently over her hips to cascade to the floor. As she descends, her legs peak out from slits in the fabric, revealing tiny feet wrapped in silver inlaid leather from her soles to just below her knees. Her toes and heels are uncovered. Undeniably Dalish in design. The same wrapped style is found at her wrists, silver bracers that sparkle subtly in the candlelight.

Sapphires dangle from her ears, glitter in the pins holding back her hair, and yet their beautiful colors seem dull in comparison to her eyes which regard him with something like shyness as she extends her hand. Cullen takes it in his and yet continues to marvel at her without a word.

Josephine and Leliana watch the exchange with conspiratorial smiles. "Our Lady Inquisitor is lovely, is she not?" Leliana prompts, a small smirk playing about her lips.

"No," he disagrees in a whisper, his warm amber eyes never once leaving Viru's. "She is breathtaking."

Viru's smile in response is everything her ambassador and spymaster hoped for.


	3. Sunrise

Precisely thirty minutes before his shift starts, Cullen is there in line at Elgarasan Cafe. As the only place in town that serves a decent cup of coffee, it is, as always, a madhouse.

The line is almost out the door, filled with agitated workers, exhausted parents, and struggling students all waiting to get their pick-me-up before tackling the day. And yet, despite the chaos and ungodly hour, she is as bright and chipper as always.

Viru is a beacon of sun well before it rises. Those complaining of traffic and running late bark their orders in quick, stressed syllables and yet receive the same warm smile and "have a lovely day!" as all the rest. Patrons with bags under their eyes barely manage to mumble out their drink names, yet she never grows impatient, never rushes them to move along despite the crowd. Most cannot help but perk up well before ever getting their coffee.

Most, but not all.

"This is Ferelden. Use our language or go elsewhere!" An awkward silence falls at the front of the line and Cullen can see a young Dalish man turn red as he ducks his head away from the huffy middle-aged woman behind him, pretending not to hear.

Viru doesn't follow suit. Her smile freezes in place and she very deliberately addresses the young man in his (their) own language as she takes down his order.

"I DON'T want to hear that language!" the woman behind him shrieks, now red in the face herself. "How dare you encourage him. If he wants to speak our language, fine. But if not, he should leave!"

Viru hands him a receipt, gives him a beaming smile. Then cuts her eyes to the woman. "He is very welcome here and more than welcome to use our language to place his order. If that is going to bother you, then I will ask you to please leave."

By now, the woman is trembling with rage. "Oh! You think because you run the register you can make the rules? I want to speak to a manager, you little elf-bitch!"

Viru places her palms on the counter, leans forward very deliberately with a too-sweet smile. "Ma'am, I am the **owner**. And I want you to get out of my shop, now."

More than owner, Viru glares across the counter like a Queen from her throne. Imperious, unflinching, and absolutely above the lowly peasant daring to bother her.

For a moment, the angry woman falls silent, perhaps too embarrassed, or too intimidated to speak. But then, "You–you think that matters to me? Just because you own this place doesn't mean you two can speak that way. This is a Ferelden city, I will call the city guard! I'll tell them how a stupid, knife-eared bitch harassed–!"

The moment that ignorant woman started talking, Cullen had despised her. But now he is beyond livid. "No need. Captain Rutherford, City Guard." The crowd parts as he steps forward, badge in hand. "I've seen and heard far more than enough."

Uncertainty flashes in Viru's eyes for the first time and it cuts Cullen deeper than he expects to see such mistrust. But after this episode, and who knows how many other terrible scenes just like it, he cannot blame her.

He turns to her abuser, mouth pressed into a thin line. "Let's see, I have evidence for several counts of harassment, as well as trespassing as I just heard the shop owner tell you to leave. Both counts could also be considered hate incidents, if not hate crimes."

He turns, Viru's lips are parted in surprise. "Did I miss anything?" His voice, hard as steel only seconds before, is gentle.

Her head shakes, the golden curls that frame her face dancing with the movement.

"Good."

* * *

The next hour is a mess, but worthwhile. Cullen apprehends the harasser and two of his officers come pick her up, all the while she continues to shriek and squawk and make quite a spectacular case against herself. Viru continues to run the shop, and ends up with an overflowing tip jar and several encouraging words from her regular customers.

When the police car pulls away, the morning rush has dissipated. For perhaps the first time ever, Cullen is able to walk right up to the counter. She glances up, braided bun messy with loose curls, cream and coffee splotching her apron, a soft smile on her lips. It's enough to make him lose his train of thought.

"This morning…I'm so sorry about that. No one should have to deal with such foolishness," he says.

"Nothing for you to be sorry for. Quite the opposite, in fact." Up close, he can see the freckles dotting the apples of her cheeks.

"I…well." A hand over his mouth, clearing his throat to hide a blush. "You handled yourself just fine without me. I just couldn't stand the thought of her doing that to you–to anyone again."

A fluttering laugh and her ears turn pink. And Cullen might have forgotten to breathe. "Still, thank you." She smirks, wide eyes bright with amusement. "Could I get you a coffee sometime?"

Now it is his turn to laugh, the sound a touch nervous. By the Maker, she's only joking, being kind. That's all.

The pink in her cheeks blooms again. "Or…or maybe dinner?"

Oh. Oh!

A shy, almost boyish smile pulls at the corners of his lips."Yes! I mean, that would be… really nice."


End file.
